I have had many requests to write more regularly...so I will try and honor those requests. My own parents even mentioned that they had gone to the site to check for updates....and if my parents are wondering what I'm up to then I better feel guilty enough to take the time to write.
Thailand was fantastic! I would definitely recommend it and go back there. Almost everyone we met had been there before, so obviously there is a charm to this place. A couple of things to know if you visit: 1. Toilet paper is non-existant, so plan ahead ladies! They do have these little gadgets that look suspiciously like kitchen-sink sprayers installed next to the toilet. I guess you are supposed to 'spray yourself clean' but as Laura so aptly pointed out, that still leaves you 'wet.' Hmmmmm. We never quite got used to that practice, so we stuffed bits of Kleenex into our pockets and wondered how the Thai women managed. 2. Everywhere you go, you take off your shoes/sandals and leave them at the door. This is pretty easy when you wear flip flops everywhere. Imagine going into a shop or a restaurant and seeing a pile of random flip flops at the entrance. You simply kick off your flip flops and enter like everyone else. The floors are immaculately clean, so no worries there. No one steals your shoes (this is NOT Africa) and they are waiting for you when you return; although sometimes you have to find them in the pile. One bonus of this custom--when you return to your rented Bungalow and you notice your son's size 10 flip flops outside the door, you know he is inside waiting for you even though you have not even seen him yet; his footwear leaves a clear calling card! 3. Thai taxi drivers will always try and take you to the famous custom clothing shops or the jewelry shops--whether you want to go there or not. They suspiciously stop there on the way to the famous sites of Standing Buddha or Reclining Buddha, so that you will buy something--they get a cut of the proceeds from the shop owners. You must be FIRM and say no, or all your vacation time will be spent in these places. 4. Thai open- taxi drivers may claim to know where you want to go (even when you give them a printed business card of your hotel with attached map!) but they will inevitably NOT really know and drop you off in a strange place where you have to find your own way back. Laura and I spent one evening walking the dangerous streets of Bangkok under just such circumstances. When I started to notice gang graffiti on the walls of the alley, I knew we had to risk hiring another taxi to get us out of there. Laura was pretty upset (and we were both tired of walking), but even as I kept my cool, I felt angry and vulnerable at being in a city I didn't know. Simple Freetown, with it's 3 major streets was starting to look pretty good. 5. Thai New Year: a very interesting custom. I think the date was April 12 or 13. Basically, it's a National Holiday involving lots and lots of well-wishers throwing water on you for good luck. Hmmmm. It actually felt pretty good because it's very hot in Thailand. But this custom does have it's drawbacks if you are a tourist. During the day, everyone is making merriment and you expect the dousing of water as you walk or drive by a native Thai person. But as night wears on, you sort of forget about the holiday. Laura and I took the motor scooter into town in the evening to do some last minute shopping. We were driving on a sort of dark side street and I noticed this man standing in the middle of the street. Laura was driving and I thought to myself; what is that man doing--standing in the middle of the road when he can clearly see a motor scooter coming right at him? Too late I remembered the Thai New Year and just at that moment he threw a huge bucket of cold water on us--drenching us both! Imagine being completely surprised, soaking wet, at night, riding a motor scooter and then going shopping. I'm sure we were a sight; two wet white girls wandering the streets of Tungsala with our clothing sticking to us. I was relieved I was not wearing a white shirt; as I had long before abandoned the practice of wearing lingerie in Thailand--just too darn hot!
For everyone worried about the violence that occurred while we were there; we missed it completely-thank God. The day we left Bangkok for Koh Phan Ghan, there were protesters lining the streets of downtown Bangkok. It looked like a sea of red shirts snaking along like a caterpillar from our view on the upper deck of the freeway. Unfortunately because the protesters had taken over the city streets, the traffic was that much worse on the freeway and we missed the first plane to Koh Phan Ghan. As Laura and I bickered our way through the five hour wait at the airport for the next plane, we had no idea what was happening downtown. We boarded the plane for the hour-long flight to the southern islands and were happily ignorant of all the violence in Bangkok. It wasn't until we read the newspapers the next day, that we realized how bad things were. We stayed in Koh Phan Ghan for the next week and by the time we returned to Bangkok, things were relatively calm. There were policemen in riot gear posted at every corner on the streets near our hotel. That mistake was actually ours; we didn't realize that the charming hotel we booked was only a couple of blocks from the State House--where all the violence had occurred. We were ok and the hotel--Shanti Lodge--was really quaint. All part of the adventure, our family is known to muse.
Well, I'm back in Freetown now and since it's Sunday, it might be time to hit the beach. For two weeks in Thailand, I saw the ocean almost every single day. I loved hearing the roar of the surf and once at night, I even dared go for a midnight swim. Life is what you make it. Make it good.
Becky
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Thursday, April 2, 2009
My First Vacation!
Well, I've been at US Embassy Freetown for almost 11 months now and it's really time for a vacation. I will be on R&R from April 3-19. I am going to Thailand to visit Ryan, who is staying there for a couple months. Laura will join me from New York. We really wanted Angela to come as well, but she is busy writing her dissertation and teaching at UC Boulder. I hope and pray she will come to see me in Africa this summer. The plane flight to Bangkok looks something like this: 4 hour drive to the airport from Freetown; 11 hour flight from Freetown to Nairobi, layover in Nairobi from 5:30am to midnight; then fly to Bangkok and arrive around noon in Bangkok. Should be interesting! Basically I leave Freetown at 11am tomorrow morning (Friday) and arrive in Bangkok at 1:00 in the afternoon on Sunday. I will take lots of photos and try to post them when I return. Take care everyone! Becky
Monday, March 16, 2009
Two very different days
Last Weekend:
As most of you know, I love the beach. Growing up in Minnesota, I didn't even see the ocean (Daytona Beach in Florida) until I was almost 30. Now, I can't get enough of it. Last weekend, I went to the same private beach house that I almost always go to. My Lebanese friends have a cook to make the food and they provide all food and drinks; including the tequila shots we drink to celebrate still being alive in this third world situation. I usually bring home-made Rum Cake or American Chocolate Chip cookies. It's usually a group of about 10-15 people and the people change as Ex Pats come and go. Last weekend, there were two International Military guys there. One of them sort of jokingly asked me if I wanted to race him to the island. Race, as in swim. Now, this island is maybe 3/4 of a mile from the shore of the beach house. I always sort of wanted to challenge myself and see if I could swim across, but never really took it seriously. I figured I had the whole two years to give it a try. But here was this hunk of a military guy (probably 15 years my junior) asking me to race and I couldn't resist. I thought God was sending me this challenge directly through him, because I might not try it on my own. So, off we went. We didn't race; I think we both knew it was a long distance and we needed to conserve our energy if we were going to make it. I was ahead of him the whole time--which surprised me. He probably works out in the weight room 6 days a week--by the look of his iron arms. I kept looking back and calling out to him to make sure he was OK. I arrived on the island tired but proud. He joined me a few minutes later. We were both relieved to be able to touch the shoreline. We rested about 20 minutes then started to swim back. We were both more tired on the way back and the tide seemed to be working against us. I just kept telling myself if I swam one direction and made it, I could do it again in the reverse direction. He was still quite a ways behind me, but I never got too far ahead of him so I could make sure he was safe. I arrived on the other side even more tired, but elated that I had made it. I actually expected to feel exhausted, but that was not the case. That's when I realized I am probably in better shape than I think. I have been running consistently over two years now, and my endurance is starting to show. I well remember my first Sprint Triathlon in June 2007. I had only been running 5 months at that point and I really had no business even attempting a Sprint Tri. Of course, I was too ignorant to know that--the curse of a beginner. The swim was murder! I literally began praying to God to help me finish the 1/4 mile swim because I really would not have made it otherwise. I was totally exhausted in the water--to the point where it was probably dangerous. Yesterday, I swam out to the island and back for the second time and I was hardly even winded. Just goes to show that with a little perseverance, you really can get healthy and fit. Boy, if only I could do a Sprint Tri now!!
Today:
There is civil unrest in Freetown. On Friday, the local police, who are unhappy about some benefits and lack of payment, got angry and there were small riots downtown. We heard about burning cars and some shots fired. Rumors ran from unruly behavior to 13 dead. Luckily, no one was killed. The International Military unit was confided to their compound and the city was on high alert. Today (Monday) the political party currently in power trashed the offices of the opposing political party. The building was set on fire and we heard reports of over 1000 unemployed youth causing a riot that the local police could not control. Our Embassy got many frantic phone calls. The mood in town feels uneasy. I hope by tomorrow things will have calmed down. Here in Sierra Leone, the people for the most part are happy and easy going. But the problem created by a great number of unemployed youth--who have energy and spare time to burn--is that they can incite problems and things can get out of control quickly. For now, I am safe and I hope it stays that way.
Appreciate all the gifts you have in your life; good health, strong body, good friends, protection from harm; democracy.
As most of you know, I love the beach. Growing up in Minnesota, I didn't even see the ocean (Daytona Beach in Florida) until I was almost 30. Now, I can't get enough of it. Last weekend, I went to the same private beach house that I almost always go to. My Lebanese friends have a cook to make the food and they provide all food and drinks; including the tequila shots we drink to celebrate still being alive in this third world situation. I usually bring home-made Rum Cake or American Chocolate Chip cookies. It's usually a group of about 10-15 people and the people change as Ex Pats come and go. Last weekend, there were two International Military guys there. One of them sort of jokingly asked me if I wanted to race him to the island. Race, as in swim. Now, this island is maybe 3/4 of a mile from the shore of the beach house. I always sort of wanted to challenge myself and see if I could swim across, but never really took it seriously. I figured I had the whole two years to give it a try. But here was this hunk of a military guy (probably 15 years my junior) asking me to race and I couldn't resist. I thought God was sending me this challenge directly through him, because I might not try it on my own. So, off we went. We didn't race; I think we both knew it was a long distance and we needed to conserve our energy if we were going to make it. I was ahead of him the whole time--which surprised me. He probably works out in the weight room 6 days a week--by the look of his iron arms. I kept looking back and calling out to him to make sure he was OK. I arrived on the island tired but proud. He joined me a few minutes later. We were both relieved to be able to touch the shoreline. We rested about 20 minutes then started to swim back. We were both more tired on the way back and the tide seemed to be working against us. I just kept telling myself if I swam one direction and made it, I could do it again in the reverse direction. He was still quite a ways behind me, but I never got too far ahead of him so I could make sure he was safe. I arrived on the other side even more tired, but elated that I had made it. I actually expected to feel exhausted, but that was not the case. That's when I realized I am probably in better shape than I think. I have been running consistently over two years now, and my endurance is starting to show. I well remember my first Sprint Triathlon in June 2007. I had only been running 5 months at that point and I really had no business even attempting a Sprint Tri. Of course, I was too ignorant to know that--the curse of a beginner. The swim was murder! I literally began praying to God to help me finish the 1/4 mile swim because I really would not have made it otherwise. I was totally exhausted in the water--to the point where it was probably dangerous. Yesterday, I swam out to the island and back for the second time and I was hardly even winded. Just goes to show that with a little perseverance, you really can get healthy and fit. Boy, if only I could do a Sprint Tri now!!
Today:
There is civil unrest in Freetown. On Friday, the local police, who are unhappy about some benefits and lack of payment, got angry and there were small riots downtown. We heard about burning cars and some shots fired. Rumors ran from unruly behavior to 13 dead. Luckily, no one was killed. The International Military unit was confided to their compound and the city was on high alert. Today (Monday) the political party currently in power trashed the offices of the opposing political party. The building was set on fire and we heard reports of over 1000 unemployed youth causing a riot that the local police could not control. Our Embassy got many frantic phone calls. The mood in town feels uneasy. I hope by tomorrow things will have calmed down. Here in Sierra Leone, the people for the most part are happy and easy going. But the problem created by a great number of unemployed youth--who have energy and spare time to burn--is that they can incite problems and things can get out of control quickly. For now, I am safe and I hope it stays that way.
Appreciate all the gifts you have in your life; good health, strong body, good friends, protection from harm; democracy.
Monday, February 23, 2009
What would you do?
I dropped him off at the end of our lane. He seemed fragile, standing there in his home-made sling, but it was the most likely place to get a taxi that time of night. The lane from our apartment to the main road is dark and bumpy and filled with opportunities for more injuries. I had just spent the better part of a while trying to put him back together, so I wanted him to have the best chance of getting home safely. There was no place to turn my car around, so I had to turn onto the main road and drive until I found a place to reverse my direction. By the time I got back to the lane entrance, he was gone, like a ghost in the night; whisked away by some invisible taxi for a fare of about $1.50, which I had handed him only 5 minutes earlier. Gone from my evening but not from my memory.
Living in a third world country, after a while you become desensitized. It cannot happen any other way because if you let all that emotion in day after day, you would lose it. I was driving home the other day and I realized it felt totally normal to me to see kids suffering, to see dirt and broken buildings, to see moms carrying babies on their backs, with huge sacks of grain on their heads and holding the hand of their toddler child all on the street inches from my car while I was driving. It didn't bother me that out of the 8 pregnant women I see on any given day, one of them will die giving birth. It didn't phase me anymore to see a sick, listless child lying on his mothers lap and knowing there was a good chance that child would not live to see his next birthday. It didn't bother me to watch kids carrying water jugs on their heads--half the size of their small bodies-- and knowing they did not have the opportunity to attend school because their parents could not afford the uniforms or the bribes needed to pay for the supposedly mandatory free public education. You get used to these things because they are facts. After a while, you feel helpless and give in to the circumstances around you. They call it acclimating. Most of the time, that is what you do to survive. Sometimes, though, something strikes a chord in you and you wake up and remember that in the civilized world, things are not this way. Sometimes you even try and make a dent in the poverty and hopelessness around you and bring a little civilized dignity to a shattered place. And sometimes you do it without even knowing, until the end, why you did it.
I was leaving my best friends house Sunday evening. It's a house, but we call it a compound because it's surrounded by a huge wall with razor wire on top and a gate at the entrance to let cars in and out. This situation is not for grandeur, but rather for security. Iron bars on the windows and triple-locked steel doors keep out the rebels during war time. War is recent memory for people here and everyone who can afford it, stays as safe as possible. As I was leaving, one of the workers approached my car. Everyone who has a compound, has half a dozen workers, or a small army of people, who help them around the house and around the compound. These people are poor; they live off the owner of the house. They get paid very little, but it's work and they have a fairly safe place to live. Their living conditions are nothing like the owner's. They do not typically have running water or electricity, and some of them live outside--sometimes sleeping on mattresses on the edge of the driveway. I have been at my friends house many times and the workers all know me by name now. So this worker who approached me in the dark was familiar to me, but I did not know his name. He was probably approaching middle age, but he looked much older. It's a hard life here and it shows. He tried to show me his arm and he was asking for something. They speak a version of English here--called Krio. I can understand most of it, but I was having a hard time figuring out what he wanted; mostly because it was pitch dark and because I was confused as to why he was approaching my car. Most times, they just open the gate and I exit quietly. I finally gathered that he had hurt his arm and was asking me for some sort of assistance. In the form of what...I had no idea. I got out of my car, turned on my tiny key chain flashlight and pointed it in the direction of his arm. Right away, by the way he was gingerly holding it, I could tell the injury was serious. Even in the dim light, I could see how swollen it was. I felt sad immediately. I could only imagine how much it must be paining him. I didn't know what else to do, so I gave him 20,000 Leones (about $6.00) and told him to see a doctor in the morning. Being a foreigner, I would have to pay about $50 to see a doctor here, but I know they do not charge the locals that much. He thanked me and promised to go to the clinic the next day. I also gave him two ibuprofen that I had in my purse. I mean, what else could I do? It seemed so little, but here in Africa, suffering is part of everyday life. People get sick and they endure it. You're lucky if you don't die. I tried to put the incident out of my mind; hoping I had done enough and hoping maybe the injury really wasn't that harsh.
I went to my friends house again the next evening. It was not a planned visit; I stopped by after running because he offered dinner. On my way out, again under the cover of darkness, I decided to check on the worker. He assured me he had been to the clinic and that the doctor told him that his wrist was not broken but only cracked. What?? That means the same thing in my book--serious! The doctor had given him an injection for the pain and sent him home. No cast, no support wrap, nothing. The arm was still swollen and I'm sure he was still in pain. He had found a ribbon--something you would use to wrap a Christmas present and he had tied this around his neck and was hanging his wrist from it in an attempt to reduce mobility and thus the pain. Pretty clever, I thought. In fact, the ribbon still had the "to/from" tag on it. My heart sank. I just could not stand by and do nothing when I knew this person was suffering and no one was probably going to do anything about it. Well, I was someone. I could do something. I knew a little first aid--my Dad was an EMT for over 30 years. Where to start? I put the worker in my car and drove him to my house.
Living in a third world country, after a while you become desensitized. It cannot happen any other way because if you let all that emotion in day after day, you would lose it. I was driving home the other day and I realized it felt totally normal to me to see kids suffering, to see dirt and broken buildings, to see moms carrying babies on their backs, with huge sacks of grain on their heads and holding the hand of their toddler child all on the street inches from my car while I was driving. It didn't bother me that out of the 8 pregnant women I see on any given day, one of them will die giving birth. It didn't phase me anymore to see a sick, listless child lying on his mothers lap and knowing there was a good chance that child would not live to see his next birthday. It didn't bother me to watch kids carrying water jugs on their heads--half the size of their small bodies-- and knowing they did not have the opportunity to attend school because their parents could not afford the uniforms or the bribes needed to pay for the supposedly mandatory free public education. You get used to these things because they are facts. After a while, you feel helpless and give in to the circumstances around you. They call it acclimating. Most of the time, that is what you do to survive. Sometimes, though, something strikes a chord in you and you wake up and remember that in the civilized world, things are not this way. Sometimes you even try and make a dent in the poverty and hopelessness around you and bring a little civilized dignity to a shattered place. And sometimes you do it without even knowing, until the end, why you did it.
I was leaving my best friends house Sunday evening. It's a house, but we call it a compound because it's surrounded by a huge wall with razor wire on top and a gate at the entrance to let cars in and out. This situation is not for grandeur, but rather for security. Iron bars on the windows and triple-locked steel doors keep out the rebels during war time. War is recent memory for people here and everyone who can afford it, stays as safe as possible. As I was leaving, one of the workers approached my car. Everyone who has a compound, has half a dozen workers, or a small army of people, who help them around the house and around the compound. These people are poor; they live off the owner of the house. They get paid very little, but it's work and they have a fairly safe place to live. Their living conditions are nothing like the owner's. They do not typically have running water or electricity, and some of them live outside--sometimes sleeping on mattresses on the edge of the driveway. I have been at my friends house many times and the workers all know me by name now. So this worker who approached me in the dark was familiar to me, but I did not know his name. He was probably approaching middle age, but he looked much older. It's a hard life here and it shows. He tried to show me his arm and he was asking for something. They speak a version of English here--called Krio. I can understand most of it, but I was having a hard time figuring out what he wanted; mostly because it was pitch dark and because I was confused as to why he was approaching my car. Most times, they just open the gate and I exit quietly. I finally gathered that he had hurt his arm and was asking me for some sort of assistance. In the form of what...I had no idea. I got out of my car, turned on my tiny key chain flashlight and pointed it in the direction of his arm. Right away, by the way he was gingerly holding it, I could tell the injury was serious. Even in the dim light, I could see how swollen it was. I felt sad immediately. I could only imagine how much it must be paining him. I didn't know what else to do, so I gave him 20,000 Leones (about $6.00) and told him to see a doctor in the morning. Being a foreigner, I would have to pay about $50 to see a doctor here, but I know they do not charge the locals that much. He thanked me and promised to go to the clinic the next day. I also gave him two ibuprofen that I had in my purse. I mean, what else could I do? It seemed so little, but here in Africa, suffering is part of everyday life. People get sick and they endure it. You're lucky if you don't die. I tried to put the incident out of my mind; hoping I had done enough and hoping maybe the injury really wasn't that harsh.
I went to my friends house again the next evening. It was not a planned visit; I stopped by after running because he offered dinner. On my way out, again under the cover of darkness, I decided to check on the worker. He assured me he had been to the clinic and that the doctor told him that his wrist was not broken but only cracked. What?? That means the same thing in my book--serious! The doctor had given him an injection for the pain and sent him home. No cast, no support wrap, nothing. The arm was still swollen and I'm sure he was still in pain. He had found a ribbon--something you would use to wrap a Christmas present and he had tied this around his neck and was hanging his wrist from it in an attempt to reduce mobility and thus the pain. Pretty clever, I thought. In fact, the ribbon still had the "to/from" tag on it. My heart sank. I just could not stand by and do nothing when I knew this person was suffering and no one was probably going to do anything about it. Well, I was someone. I could do something. I knew a little first aid--my Dad was an EMT for over 30 years. Where to start? I put the worker in my car and drove him to my house.
At the house, I got Dad on the phone from Arizona and explained my situation. While I talked to him, I dragged out the red plastic first aid kit he had made for each of us about 20 years ago. I don't get hurt much so most of the supplies were still in stock. In fact, I had added a few things over the years like ace bandages and random wrist supports. Dad went immediately into medical advice mode--he has received many calls of this nature from us--so he has a lot of practice. He advised ice to reduce the swelling. That's great Dad, I have ice at my house but the worker has no electricity where he lives, hence he has no access to ice cubes. No matter, I could ice it for the 15 minutes I planned to keep him in my apartment to treat him. Ice went immediately into a zip lock bag and onto the wrist. I think the worker breathed a sigh of relief after only a couple of minutes. I think even the ice helped it feel better. Then Dad suggested an ace bandage to wrap around the wrist to help hold it stable. I found an ancient wrap with a big safety pin. After the 15 minutes of icing, I did a pretty remarkable job of wrapping the wrist. I think even Dad would have been impressed. But while I was wrapping the wrist, I could tell that every little movement caused the worker a lot of pain. I remembered the huge bottle of ibuprofen in my room and I put about 40 tablets into a zip lock bag. I told him to take two in the morning and two in the evening. It would help somewhat with the pain and the swelling. I was not a pharmacy, but it would be better than nothing. Finally, Dad said he thought there was a large triangle tourniquet-thing (sort of like a dish towel) in the bottom of the first aid kit. He was right! I had never noticed it before. I unfolded it and viola. It was a perfect sling! I had to practice tying it around myself a couple of times before I got it in the right position on my patient. But hey, I had never done it before. After I was finished, the worker looked like a patient right out of a civil war movie--he could have been in that scene at the train station where they show all the war wounded in Gone With the Wind.
I had done something to help alleviate the suffering of another person. I had not reduced the infant mortality rate or removed Sierra Leone from the #1 position of worst level of poverty on the Human Development Scale, but I helped one person feel better. Sometimes you get to save the world one person at a time.
Friday, February 13, 2009
This and That
It's Friday night. It's been a long work week; and it was only 3 and a half days for me! I worked late every night and it's becoming frustrating. I need to have my personal life here-- as the hardship part of the job is wearing on me.
Here are some random things that have happened this week--things that don't usually happen back in the civilized world.
1. Yesterday, at 6:30 am I got a txt message from my upstairs Embassy neighbor. She had just arrived back from London and she was asking permission to use my shower. Apparently, because her water had not been turned on for 10 days, it came out of the tap cold and brown! When was the last time that happened to any of you? I told her of course she could come down, but by the time she got my message, her water was better so she didn't have to walk down to my apartment in her bathrobe!
2. On the way home from work today, there was a car accident. The cars banged into each other and decided to just stay that way until the police arrived. Really, there is no point in waiting for the police because no one here (except the foreigners) has car insurance and the policy here is that it does not matter whole fault it was...who ever has the most money pays the other person! The bad part of this accident was that both cars blocked the entire road, so the rest of us had to wait for nothing; or in our case because I have an SUV, my driver drove into the ditch to get around the accident. Thank god for my new driver, Kojo!
3. There is a good side to not having unpacked all my boxes yet. I have 3 wardrobe boxes that have random clothes in them. And by random, I really mean that: my monogrammed bowling shirt circa 1976, Laura's prom dress from 2001, wool sweaters from Germany, my graduation cap and gown, some old clothes that are too big or too embarrassing to wear, and a couple of cocktail and bridesmaid dresses from various functions over the years. I hauled these boxes out because I remember I had packed a couple of formal dresses in case we had formal parties here. Next weekend we are having a Mardi Gras Ball. We are mainly having his event to boost morale and to have an excuse to get dressed up! (this was a girls idea, of course!) I asked a guy from the Embassy to be my date....and so we will sit at a table of 12 friends and act like we are at the Adult Prom.....in Sierra Leone! Anyway, I spent this evening trying all the dresses and deciding on which one to wear. I really didn't love any of them. You ladies know how that is; you buy a dress for a specific occasion and that dress becomes "branded" to the event. For instance; I really love the dress I wore for Allison's wedding, but I wore it with Robert (an ex-boyfriend) so now every time I see it, I remember how beautiful I looked but that I didn't have a very good time with my date. Then there is the slinky, fitted black lame dress with the sparkles, but it shows off every curve and even though I look good in it, it's not the sort of message I want to convey to the Embassy crowd. I think I'll go looking for fabric tomorrow; you can get dresses made pretty cheaply here....and I can pretend I'm in an episode of Project Runway!
4. When you live in a place with very few things to do, you really begin to miss civilization. I know I have said that before, but I learned this week that I'm not the only one who feels that way. I talked to a fellow Embassy employee--a woman--and she told me she had a vivid dream....about shopping at Ann Taylor!! I could almost see the glitzy displays, see the pretty new styles, see the gay sales clerks waiting to help me. Oh, what I wouldn't give for a weekend at the mall...and I don't even like to shop! As for me, I miss other things. I miss going to a movie---sitting in a dark theatre, eating popcorn with tons of butter and feeling all cozy. I really miss having a real hamburger; at this point even McDonald's sounds pretty good! I miss having a manicure and pedicure...at a real beauty shop. Oh well, I get to go to the beach on Sunday, so I'm sure after I'm all tan and a little silly from drinking tequila, then I will feel better!
Gotta run. Birthday dinner party tonight...and of course I have nothing to wear!
Take care,
Becky
Here are some random things that have happened this week--things that don't usually happen back in the civilized world.
1. Yesterday, at 6:30 am I got a txt message from my upstairs Embassy neighbor. She had just arrived back from London and she was asking permission to use my shower. Apparently, because her water had not been turned on for 10 days, it came out of the tap cold and brown! When was the last time that happened to any of you? I told her of course she could come down, but by the time she got my message, her water was better so she didn't have to walk down to my apartment in her bathrobe!
2. On the way home from work today, there was a car accident. The cars banged into each other and decided to just stay that way until the police arrived. Really, there is no point in waiting for the police because no one here (except the foreigners) has car insurance and the policy here is that it does not matter whole fault it was...who ever has the most money pays the other person! The bad part of this accident was that both cars blocked the entire road, so the rest of us had to wait for nothing; or in our case because I have an SUV, my driver drove into the ditch to get around the accident. Thank god for my new driver, Kojo!
3. There is a good side to not having unpacked all my boxes yet. I have 3 wardrobe boxes that have random clothes in them. And by random, I really mean that: my monogrammed bowling shirt circa 1976, Laura's prom dress from 2001, wool sweaters from Germany, my graduation cap and gown, some old clothes that are too big or too embarrassing to wear, and a couple of cocktail and bridesmaid dresses from various functions over the years. I hauled these boxes out because I remember I had packed a couple of formal dresses in case we had formal parties here. Next weekend we are having a Mardi Gras Ball. We are mainly having his event to boost morale and to have an excuse to get dressed up! (this was a girls idea, of course!) I asked a guy from the Embassy to be my date....and so we will sit at a table of 12 friends and act like we are at the Adult Prom.....in Sierra Leone! Anyway, I spent this evening trying all the dresses and deciding on which one to wear. I really didn't love any of them. You ladies know how that is; you buy a dress for a specific occasion and that dress becomes "branded" to the event. For instance; I really love the dress I wore for Allison's wedding, but I wore it with Robert (an ex-boyfriend) so now every time I see it, I remember how beautiful I looked but that I didn't have a very good time with my date. Then there is the slinky, fitted black lame dress with the sparkles, but it shows off every curve and even though I look good in it, it's not the sort of message I want to convey to the Embassy crowd. I think I'll go looking for fabric tomorrow; you can get dresses made pretty cheaply here....and I can pretend I'm in an episode of Project Runway!
4. When you live in a place with very few things to do, you really begin to miss civilization. I know I have said that before, but I learned this week that I'm not the only one who feels that way. I talked to a fellow Embassy employee--a woman--and she told me she had a vivid dream....about shopping at Ann Taylor!! I could almost see the glitzy displays, see the pretty new styles, see the gay sales clerks waiting to help me. Oh, what I wouldn't give for a weekend at the mall...and I don't even like to shop! As for me, I miss other things. I miss going to a movie---sitting in a dark theatre, eating popcorn with tons of butter and feeling all cozy. I really miss having a real hamburger; at this point even McDonald's sounds pretty good! I miss having a manicure and pedicure...at a real beauty shop. Oh well, I get to go to the beach on Sunday, so I'm sure after I'm all tan and a little silly from drinking tequila, then I will feel better!
Gotta run. Birthday dinner party tonight...and of course I have nothing to wear!
Take care,
Becky
Sunday, February 1, 2009
You can run but you can't hide....
Today's post will be a little different. You will know me better after this....
Today I decided to unpack a few more boxes in the den. The den has become the catch-all room, where random things get thrown for temporary storage. Only in this case, temporary has become about 6 months. Even my bike ended up there after being pummeled by the thick dust that settles everywhere during Harmattan season. Anyway, I was unpacking a small box of stuff from the Austin house; mostly random birthday cards and candles and keychains, when I came across a poem I had written over 10 years ago. Ever have one of those moments where you stop dead in your tracks from memories flooding over you? Like that. I have not had one of those moments lately....not since I found one of my kids' first notes to the Tooth Fairy and I went back to that place in time when I remembered the smell of their hair, fresh from a bath, as I tucked a couple of quarters under their pillow. Today was more poignant than that.
Today's title will explain itself shortly. You see, you can change your life; you can move half way across the world, but you can never totally leave your past behind. In some unplanned way, when you least expect it, it will hit you like it happened yesterday. If your past contains some pain, and frankly whose doesn't, thankfully these moments will diminish as you get further away from the events. But today, no such luck for me. I found my poem, and it's typed on a piece of white paper. It has a title (underscored even) but the whole bottom of the page is torn off so there is literally only half a sheet of paper left. Torn paper seems to have significance here; like I saved the poem in a fit of madness, lacking the formality to even save the entire page. Since the poem is short; I'll add it here:
Wedding Rings
Shiny, glittering bands of silver. Some people never wear these reminders on their finger of the day they said "I do." They never felt the love and hope that a glance at these rings brought me. I always valued their sentiment and their purpose. I used to cherish these symbols of faithfulness, charity and respect.
Then pain and misery rained down on these cold, steel bands. About the 100th time after my husband said he didn't love me anymore, I finally understood the only wisdom the rings held for me. Without love and commitment, they were just pounded bits of metal. Given with promise, they held value beyond dreams. Tarnished with hate and regret, they lie idle and unforgiving.
6/16/98
As I read the words, I started crying. I felt all the hurt and pain from years of suffering through a really bad marriage. It was as thought the words on the page released the clarity of how painful it really was, when at the time I could not let that level of feeling in. I think we must have to mimimize some things in order to survive. But we can never really hide from our true feelings. Even all these years later, I can still feel the sting of how devestating it feels when your husband tells you he doesn't love you.
That being said, today I appreciate how far I've come. I didn't let the pain totally take control of my life. Somehow, I managed to raise our last child, get a Bachelors degree, survive (definately not thrive) financially, and finally get myself together enough to take a long shot at getting a job with the Foreign Service and actually accomlish that. I moved across the world by myself and I am really thriving here in Africa. I have become the person I was meant to be....even though I would not have chosen this bumpy path.
So it just goes to show....when you chose a career with a foreign post, watch out for hidden surprises like memories tucked away in innocent boxes....and plan to unpack with an eye to the past and your arms wide open to the future.
Make it good,
Becky
Today I decided to unpack a few more boxes in the den. The den has become the catch-all room, where random things get thrown for temporary storage. Only in this case, temporary has become about 6 months. Even my bike ended up there after being pummeled by the thick dust that settles everywhere during Harmattan season. Anyway, I was unpacking a small box of stuff from the Austin house; mostly random birthday cards and candles and keychains, when I came across a poem I had written over 10 years ago. Ever have one of those moments where you stop dead in your tracks from memories flooding over you? Like that. I have not had one of those moments lately....not since I found one of my kids' first notes to the Tooth Fairy and I went back to that place in time when I remembered the smell of their hair, fresh from a bath, as I tucked a couple of quarters under their pillow. Today was more poignant than that.
Today's title will explain itself shortly. You see, you can change your life; you can move half way across the world, but you can never totally leave your past behind. In some unplanned way, when you least expect it, it will hit you like it happened yesterday. If your past contains some pain, and frankly whose doesn't, thankfully these moments will diminish as you get further away from the events. But today, no such luck for me. I found my poem, and it's typed on a piece of white paper. It has a title (underscored even) but the whole bottom of the page is torn off so there is literally only half a sheet of paper left. Torn paper seems to have significance here; like I saved the poem in a fit of madness, lacking the formality to even save the entire page. Since the poem is short; I'll add it here:
Wedding Rings
Shiny, glittering bands of silver. Some people never wear these reminders on their finger of the day they said "I do." They never felt the love and hope that a glance at these rings brought me. I always valued their sentiment and their purpose. I used to cherish these symbols of faithfulness, charity and respect.
Then pain and misery rained down on these cold, steel bands. About the 100th time after my husband said he didn't love me anymore, I finally understood the only wisdom the rings held for me. Without love and commitment, they were just pounded bits of metal. Given with promise, they held value beyond dreams. Tarnished with hate and regret, they lie idle and unforgiving.
6/16/98
As I read the words, I started crying. I felt all the hurt and pain from years of suffering through a really bad marriage. It was as thought the words on the page released the clarity of how painful it really was, when at the time I could not let that level of feeling in. I think we must have to mimimize some things in order to survive. But we can never really hide from our true feelings. Even all these years later, I can still feel the sting of how devestating it feels when your husband tells you he doesn't love you.
That being said, today I appreciate how far I've come. I didn't let the pain totally take control of my life. Somehow, I managed to raise our last child, get a Bachelors degree, survive (definately not thrive) financially, and finally get myself together enough to take a long shot at getting a job with the Foreign Service and actually accomlish that. I moved across the world by myself and I am really thriving here in Africa. I have become the person I was meant to be....even though I would not have chosen this bumpy path.
So it just goes to show....when you chose a career with a foreign post, watch out for hidden surprises like memories tucked away in innocent boxes....and plan to unpack with an eye to the past and your arms wide open to the future.
Make it good,
Becky
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Good Days & Bad Days
Well, they told us there would be good days and bad days in the Foreign Service. I just didn't know they would occur right after each other. Then again, a bad day is relative. I have friends who have lost their jobs in the past six months, so what I am about to whine about probably isn't even close to the description of a bad day.
Let's start with the good day first. Yesterday was the inauguration of our 44th President, Barack Obama. What an amazingly good day. We hosted an event at the Embassy in which 200 members of the local community (foreigners and Americans) watched the inauguration on the big screen. As I watched, I realized I was sitting between an African American business woman whose father was from Sierra Leone, and an American businesswoman from the east coast who does humanitarian work here. As President Obama said in his speech; 60 years ago in some places, African Americans were not even allowed to sit next to white people in the United States. Now, here I am in Africa serving my country and working for the US Embassy and sharing the event with people of all nationalities, cultures, and religions. I thought back to where I was a year ago and I never could have imagined I would be in Africa and watching our first African American president take the oath of office. I felt so proud of my country and the progress we have made. Here in the international community, the feeling is one of hope. It's as if President Obama is the "people's President." I have not heard one negative thing about him from anyone here; Americans or foreigners. Everyone wants to believe in him, wants to have hope that things will improve. I hope so too.
Ok, now for the bad day scenario. This is a part of life in the Foreign Service that sneaks up on you and causes you to remember that you have given up some personal freedoms to take this job. These are the sort of small annoyances that remind me that I desperately need a vacation away from Post and that the word "hardship" has substance. I came home tonight to the unwelcome sight of a new door on my apartment. Did I order a new door? No. Did I want a new door? No. Did I love the beautiful old antique wood door? Yes. Apparently there was some rumor that our doors were not meeting security code, so new doors were to be installed immediately. I was first on the list. The doors here are set in concrete block. They have to be chiseled out....and that creates a huge cloud of dust. I not only came home to an unwanted new door, but to an inch of dust covering every flat surface in my apartment. I don't know why they use the phrase "an inch of dust" because of course that's not anywhere near reality, but if you can write your name in the dust, then it's more than a little. If you are afraid to touch anything, then it's too much dust to tolerate. I left my apartment this morning at 7am and everything was clean and livable. Of course I can't clean anything tonight because this being Africa, they hung the door crooked and they have to chisel it out tomorrow and re-hang it. That means more dust tomorrow. Oh goody. Did I mention the 6 inch gap between the bottom of the new door and the floor of my apartment? I have to be very careful upon entering and exiting my apartment, less I fall into the moat area. They promised to find a solution to that dilemma tomorrow. For now, they have little pieces of cardboard and wood strips to remind me to hurdle the door frame. I hope no rats or small cats decide to enter my apartment tonight for the free lodging provided by the gap on the bottom of my lovely new steel door. At least the color is nice....red. After I carefully navigated the moat, and discovered all the dust, I decided to change out of my Embassy attire and pour myself a nice glass of wine. Unfortunately, the workmen had locked the hallway leading to my bedroom and had not left a key! After two phone calls to track down the foreman and waiting 30 minutes for a response, someone called me and told me they had hidden the key under my tv remote control. How clever! By this time, I really needed that glass of wine. I didn't want to eat inside with all the dust, so I took my leftovers and the coveted glass of wine outside to my patio. Even dumber idea! Here in Sierra Leone, it's Harmattan season. That's when a strong wind blows across Africa and brings the dust from Sierra desert and spreads it all over everything outside. Of course all the chairs and the table on my patio were covered in dust, so now I have to deal with dust inside AND outside. I think I'll change that glass of wine to a bottle!
Love you and miss you....and you can be sure I'm busy planning that much needed vacation!
Becky
Let's start with the good day first. Yesterday was the inauguration of our 44th President, Barack Obama. What an amazingly good day. We hosted an event at the Embassy in which 200 members of the local community (foreigners and Americans) watched the inauguration on the big screen. As I watched, I realized I was sitting between an African American business woman whose father was from Sierra Leone, and an American businesswoman from the east coast who does humanitarian work here. As President Obama said in his speech; 60 years ago in some places, African Americans were not even allowed to sit next to white people in the United States. Now, here I am in Africa serving my country and working for the US Embassy and sharing the event with people of all nationalities, cultures, and religions. I thought back to where I was a year ago and I never could have imagined I would be in Africa and watching our first African American president take the oath of office. I felt so proud of my country and the progress we have made. Here in the international community, the feeling is one of hope. It's as if President Obama is the "people's President." I have not heard one negative thing about him from anyone here; Americans or foreigners. Everyone wants to believe in him, wants to have hope that things will improve. I hope so too.
Ok, now for the bad day scenario. This is a part of life in the Foreign Service that sneaks up on you and causes you to remember that you have given up some personal freedoms to take this job. These are the sort of small annoyances that remind me that I desperately need a vacation away from Post and that the word "hardship" has substance. I came home tonight to the unwelcome sight of a new door on my apartment. Did I order a new door? No. Did I want a new door? No. Did I love the beautiful old antique wood door? Yes. Apparently there was some rumor that our doors were not meeting security code, so new doors were to be installed immediately. I was first on the list. The doors here are set in concrete block. They have to be chiseled out....and that creates a huge cloud of dust. I not only came home to an unwanted new door, but to an inch of dust covering every flat surface in my apartment. I don't know why they use the phrase "an inch of dust" because of course that's not anywhere near reality, but if you can write your name in the dust, then it's more than a little. If you are afraid to touch anything, then it's too much dust to tolerate. I left my apartment this morning at 7am and everything was clean and livable. Of course I can't clean anything tonight because this being Africa, they hung the door crooked and they have to chisel it out tomorrow and re-hang it. That means more dust tomorrow. Oh goody. Did I mention the 6 inch gap between the bottom of the new door and the floor of my apartment? I have to be very careful upon entering and exiting my apartment, less I fall into the moat area. They promised to find a solution to that dilemma tomorrow. For now, they have little pieces of cardboard and wood strips to remind me to hurdle the door frame. I hope no rats or small cats decide to enter my apartment tonight for the free lodging provided by the gap on the bottom of my lovely new steel door. At least the color is nice....red. After I carefully navigated the moat, and discovered all the dust, I decided to change out of my Embassy attire and pour myself a nice glass of wine. Unfortunately, the workmen had locked the hallway leading to my bedroom and had not left a key! After two phone calls to track down the foreman and waiting 30 minutes for a response, someone called me and told me they had hidden the key under my tv remote control. How clever! By this time, I really needed that glass of wine. I didn't want to eat inside with all the dust, so I took my leftovers and the coveted glass of wine outside to my patio. Even dumber idea! Here in Sierra Leone, it's Harmattan season. That's when a strong wind blows across Africa and brings the dust from Sierra desert and spreads it all over everything outside. Of course all the chairs and the table on my patio were covered in dust, so now I have to deal with dust inside AND outside. I think I'll change that glass of wine to a bottle!
Love you and miss you....and you can be sure I'm busy planning that much needed vacation!
Becky
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